


Marking/Possession

by Persephone_Van_Dyke



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-25
Updated: 2011-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone_Van_Dyke/pseuds/Persephone_Van_Dyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Well, now I'm going to mark you.'  John is stretching up, murmuring in Jack's ear.  'For keeps.  Mine.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marking/Possession

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) prompt.
> 
> Not my characters, not making any money out of this.

Five years is a long time.

You learn to trust the guy you're with – even if he's a basically untrustworthy but very hot bastard – because he's all you have. And if you're having sex – the basically untrustworthy, edgy sex you have with a hot bastard – you find ways to keep it interesting.

They got closer, probably, than either of them ever got to anyone else. Not more in love, or more compatible, or more affectionate. Just closer. To each other and to the edge.

 

'Allright, bitch,' John started. 'Stay really fucking still.'

Blindfolded and tied up by the wrists, Jack was stripped to the waist, vulnerable, and maybe a little drunk.

John is standing behind him, with a hand tangled in his hair. His other hand strokes over Jack's bare chest, looping round, running up to pinch at his nipple.

'You know we were talking about how you like getting marked, right?'

Uh-huh?' said Jack, uncertainly. They had had a drunken conversation a few nights before, about Jack's kink for marks and scars, but he didn't remember actually _requesting_ any. Typical John to tie him up before mentioning where this was going.

'Well, now I'm going to mark you.' John is stretching up, murmuring in Jack's ear. 'For keeps. Mine. Hands off, _noli me_ fucking _tangere_.'

Ah. Jack had wondered when the payoff for that little episode was coming. It wouldn't have been a problem, except that they'd been playing monogamy that week – not everyone's kink, by the 51st century, but John is versatile enough to get a kick out of controlling what his lover does with other people, and Jack didn't mind. Well, for four days. Right up until he met a gorgeous girl from Pythia 5.

John had been uncharacteristically silent about that at the time, come to think of it. Now he's plunged them back into control and ownership play with a vengeance.

'So...you're going to need to stay still.'

'How - ?' Jack began, wondering what the hell he was in for. Branding is a little outside his comfort zone, and his back suddenly feels very bare and exposed.

'That's not very - ' John pinched Jack's bum, right on the sweet spot, hard enough to hurt, ' - _still_ , babe. Behave, because you don't want this to go wrong.'

Jack shut up. Despite – or because of – the uncertainty and the ill-defined boudaries John was fooling about with, he found this hot. With John, playing close to the edge is astonishingly exciting - he seems to have an instinct for pushing at Jack's limits, taking him places he didn't know he wanted to go.

'Still, now.'

The roughness in his voice is only partly due to the dubious vodka they've been drinking. It sounds hot.

'You're a – tall bastard, Boeshane Boy,' he muttered. He's close, Jack can feel the strike of the other man's heat on his back, feel breath on his neck.

Then – a sensation on the band of muscle in the side of his throat. Not a sharp one, but acute, pointed. Not a blade. But close. And cold, and maybe wet. Or maybe just very cold.

' - the fuck?'

'Move again, and I might _slip_.'

Jack stayed as still as he could. His feet are apart, and he braces them, locks his knees and tries very very hard not to move.

The sensation moves slowly, tracing a line across his neck, drawing lightly across the back, brushing the soft hairs of his nape. It tickled, and he had to struggle to repress a shiver

Jack is a bit nervous about his neck. A certain amount of gripping is OK if it's not too hard – collars are fine if they're broad and thick – and he has no problem with being bitten till the capillaries break and bruise. But this – this feels as if John's tracing a razor over his neck, without breaking the skin. It's a little bit terrifying, and hot, and right – absolutely, finely poised – on the edge of him calling his safeword.

Not, of course, that he's completely sure John would stop. He's lost in the other man's power, and that feeds a nervous excitement centring on his solar plexus, and extending a cord of a thrill down to his cock, which stirs.

The – whatever it is – crosses his neckbones, continues to the other side of his neck.  John has a hand on his shoulderbalde, steadying him, holding him still. It feels like his face is a few inches from the surface of Jack's skin, intent on what he's doing.

John steps around him – Jack can feel the slight impact of a footstep through the floor. Now he's facing Jack, and reaches up to him, gave him a deep kiss that ended in a savage nip at his lower lip. Jack's cock twitched.

'OK, big boy. Ready for the next bit?' he breathed onto Jack's mouth.

'Sure,' gasped Jack, not at all sure he was. John dipped a hand to him, gave his cock a swift, roughish rub that made him rock, and then abruptly stepped away.

'Chin up.' Jack raised his chin, but not far enough, A sharp yank as John put a thumb under his chin and jerked his head back. 'I _said_ , chin up.'

The same light, focussed touch, on the side of his neck, then moving over the sensitive hollow where the blood-vessels and nerves clustered.

Behind the blindfold, Jack's eyes are shut, he's alone in a dark world with his quiet, intent lover and the feel of this thing, the touch their one point of contact. The thing reaches the tip of his Adam's apple, stops abruptly. Jack catches a scent – a very slight, solventy smell – something he can't quite place. When John stops again, Jack let out a gasp. This is a slow process, and Jack is dropped well into a deep, dark place where that sensation fills the world and his whole attention, his whole body is focussed on it. He's fully hard now, partly from the intensity of John's focus on him, partly with the excitement of fear.

John notices, and drags his palm along the bulge in Jack's trousers again, making him sigh and push forward a little, hoping for more. John expertly, teasingly, pulled his hand away, leaving Jack gasping, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, his hips arched forward for a touch that wasn't coming.

'Such a horny little sod,' Jack muttered, his voice close to Jack's ear again. 'Good thing I'm doing this now, so everyone will know whose slut you are.'

Jack bit back the comment that he wasn't John's, he was his own, thanks.  It was fun to play about with ownership, and besides John could be creative when you said the wrong thing in a scene. And Jack wants this – whatever it is – to carry on.

'Last bit. Don't you dare move. Don't speak, don't even fucking swallow.'

Reflexively, Jack said 'First time you've ever said that to me.' Then lifted his chin, mutely signifying readiness. John leaned in, and laid one hand on the back of Jack's neck, supporting his head, while the other manipulated that tiny point of cold. Again, the scent caught Jack, but that was only a vague impression, because John was working down from his Adam's apple, with agonising, tantalising slowness, and into the hollow where Jack's collarbones met. In that couple of square inhes of skin, he traced, retraced, the strokes short and swift, pausing occasionally. He felt so close Jack knew if he moved now he could press against him, body to body, maybe snatch a kiss. Resisting the urge and staying still was painfully difficult.

John stopped. The point of sensation was removed.

'Good boy,' John said – the first nice thing he'd said to Jack in quite a while. 'That looks good. For that, I think you get...'

'Uh?' A questioning sound, rather than a word.

'Want to come first, or do you want to see what I've done?'

Jack hesitated.

'Show me,' he muttered.

John stretched up to untie his wrists, grasping Jack's hands, feeling them for warmth. He's a bastard, but he has his moments of responsibility.

'Keep the blindfold on,' he ordered, keeping hold of Jack's hand. 'Follow me.' He led him to the only mirror they owned, and took Jack's blindfold off.

A collar, drawn on in what Jack – belatedly – identified as a permanent marker. Glossy and black, and with a medallion drawn suspended from it, on which John had written in tiny capitals, 'If found, return to 084627.'

084627 was John's Time Agency ID Code.

'Woah,' Jack breathed. 'That's really good.'

'See?' said John. 'Mine.' He planted a kiss on Jack's bare shoulder. 'Aren't you going to thank me?'

 

* * *

 

Later, breathless, the taste of each other still on their lips, Jack asked,

'How long does it last?'

'Couple of months.' John grinned wickedly. 'Wait til they see you back at the Agency.'

'Couple of _months_?'

'What? It's pretty.'

'You son of a bitch,' Jack growled, turning on him. 'I'm gonna look like an idiot.'

'You said you were into marks,' said John, sulkily.

'For the _night_! Not for a couple of months!'

 

But five years is a long time.


End file.
